


Shores of Avalon

by MickKreiger



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 16:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/611750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MickKreiger/pseuds/MickKreiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waiting on the Shores of Avalon for Arthur to return, Merlin thinks on a secret that he never told the other man. After the finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shores of Avalon

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the last episode. Nothing major in the slash department. My banter is probably not as good as theirs should be, but I did my best. 
> 
> I know I should probably be working on 'Not Happen a Third Time' but this just came to me. I promise I'll work on it soon.

It is hard, the waiting for it all and there is a long one in front of him. Years, centuries, possibly more than a millennium in waiting for the next time that Albion will need _him;_ the man that he couldn’t save. The man he wanted to save more than anyone else – more than the reigning queen, more than the Knights of the Round Table, more than absolutely anyone – he wanted to save that man. Destiny had other plans, however, and he knew from experience thus far that, that no matter how hard he fought it. He had not the power to alter destiny on his own. No one did, no one could. Destiny, Fate, Karma, whatever someone was calling it – it was written into the fabric of time and time was the underlying pen writing everything. The ultimate power in the universe – the thing to which everything was subjected to. There was nothing that was outside of the reach of time and it was a patient thing. Time would catch up to everything, and eventually release everything again. Arthur Pendragon may be dead now, but he would not be so forever. Avalon would hold his soul, across in the island that the boat had sailed towards. A place that he was not allowed to go. The living could not reach the Island of Avalon. They could merely gaze upon it from the Shores of Avalon. Forever separated from it by the waters and the Lady. The Lady of the Lake – the woman who hid from the world the sword until it was needed. Excalibur would remain in her possession until he returned and came back to Merlin once more.

 

In the beginning of his wait, Merlin would receive visitors, Gaius, the Knights, the Queen when she was feeling sad, when she was feeling tired of the troubles of Camelot and Albion. They all asked him to return to Camelot with them. They all got the same answer.  
“I’ll return to Camelot when he does,” He would say, never saying the name of his King. Never saying the name of the man from whom he kept a litany of secrets. Secrets that would have had him killed. Secrets that the man had forgiven him from keeping – Secrets that he had shared in their entirety. All of Emrys’ great secrets, all of them but one alone. The final secret. His final secret was such that he had not shared it with anyone. It was one that was not in prophecy, not in written form, not seen by any of the greats because they did not foretell such destiny, nor would such a secret occur to them. He had kept that one from everyone and everything. Not whispering it even to the wind but one time. When Arthur was gone from him forever, he had allowed himself to mutter four words but once, as he looked upon his face for the last time before the wait would begin. The wait to see that man again – whether here or if the wait should outlast him, in the realm of Avalon – for he could wait a very long time but even forever would elude him in this realm. Eventually, Merlin too, would be summoned to the Island.

 

The years that were to pass were slow, the visits the only thing that distracted him from looking out to the island but they were temporary and if they stayed too long, showed any inclination that they wished to wait with him, he would send them away. He did not want to be distracted from this wait for too long, did not want to be convinced to leave the Shores. He would not leave Arthur. He could not leave Arthur. He would jokingly argue that a servant was not to leave their master when said master had not commanded them to go. That was as close to his old humour that they would receive. Some argued beyond that – that Arthur was dead and dead men were the masters of no one, that Arthur would not have wanted him to waste his life waiting here for him, that Arthur would have wanted him to live away from here. Merlin disagreed with all of them. Given the choice, Arthur would have taken Merlin with him, taken him to wait in Avalon with him. It was the fault of others, the choices of others, the rules of others that had prevented him from going with him, from being with him. From fulfilling that wish of his that lingered in the desire to tell the final secret. The secret that maybe when Arthur came back, maybe when they were together again, he could share with the blonde haired man.

 

After all, if nothing else, Merlin supposed, Arthur had forgiven him the other secrets, the lies that he had told over the years to keep those secrets safe. The betrayal, a word which stung Merlin still, that he had committed in Arthur’s eyes by never telling the secrets relating to his magic. This secret, it was not a betrayal at all, it was nothing that was inherently bad. It was just something that had had to be kept secret at all costs. That Merlin had not the courage to admit to when Arthur had been alive before. That would likely have robbed Merlin of any chance to be around his best friend. That secret that he had kept was that his feelings for the other man had strayed away from remaining simple brotherly love that was shared between two friends. It had strayed away from that completely, turning into feelings that were more similar to what Guinevere had felt for Lancelot when he had been alive, and to a lesser extent also to Arthur. A love that consumed him, a love that made him feel the blade that had killed Arthur almost to the degree that Arthur had felt it -  a love that had killed a part of him when he realised that he couldn’t keep Arthur with him; a love that was shared between lovers and not friends.

 

He could not pinpoint when it had become that way, when friendship had given way to love in Merlin’s heart, when his feelings became infinitely stronger and infinitely more dangerous all at once. The Marriage had hurt him deeply, when he was forced to pull away a little from the closeness that he had shared before then. They were closer than anyone before the Marriage, but after that. After that he had to withdraw and that had been one of the hardest things that he had ever done. To move himself back to where a servant should be but not so far as to really demonstrate to Arthur that things had changed – the most difficult balancing act that anyone could ever be asked to perform. He had been asked by the circumstances of his life to balance love and friendship without ever giving away his true feelings, to anyone. He had had to break with instincts that were telling him to rely on others, to talk to someone, to talk to anyone about what he was going through and he had had to do such whilst making sure that they never even suspected anything was wrong. He had to make sure that they had never caught a glimpse of what he was feeling.

 

Such secrecy mattered little now; the years of waiting would take them all away from him. He wondered how long it would be before they stopped visiting and then he could grieve without the worry of being caught. Even still he would not tell them. This was a secret that he would share only with Arthur when he came back because Merlin knew. He knew that when Arthur came back he would be able to hide it no longer. His ability to shield himself from Arthur would be broken completely. He would know one way or the other and telling him straight. Offering his love, that was the way that it should be done. In a way that if nothing else, Arthur could respect for bravery because such things were difficult to say, especially to another man; it was not as if he was simply confessing feelings for a woman. That would be easy enough to confess to, women were taught to deal with it all of their lives. Men could openly court them, be comforted by others were they rejected. This was different, few would understand, most would simply condemn him for his feelings. He was not after all, a citizen of Greece or Rome when they had been at the height of their power.

 

Merlin stared out across the waters. Sometimes he liked to imagine that he could see Arthur on the other side, looking out upon what had been and what was to be his kingdom. He liked to imagine that sometimes Arthur caught his eye and he looked at the other man with the same longing with which Merlin looked over at him but it was all in his mind. For none could see into the Realm of Avalon. The Island may well be the Realm but the Island was but a stepping stone; a passageway away from the Realm of the Living. Arthur would be away in the Realm, enjoying the eternal peace of the place. He would be at peace. That thought was one of many that soothed the pain of the waiting. For Merlin might be hurt, Merlin might have to wait in this place but Arthur would be at peace, but sometimes there were nightmares. There were nightmares that Avalon was not a place of peace at all but one of war; a place where every day, Arthur would have to fight with Morgana, with Mordred. A place he would have to revisit the brutality of the events that ended in his death, ended in his arrival to Avalon.

 

There were also dreams. Dreams in which he could hear Arthur’s voice, telling him how happy he was that Merlin was waiting for him. That he was sorry that he could not come back to him sooner and that he wold be with him as soon as he could. That they could be with one another again in time, he just had to wait a little while longer. Days could pass a little bit quicker when those were the dreams that he was having. Time passed a little faster, it was kinder to Merlin when he could imagine that he just had to make it through this time. He was more patient then. The nightmares fuelled an adrenaline rush that made every moment feel like centuries.

 

Merlin waited a full year before anything changed at all. He never left the Shores for more than an hour or two at a time during that interval. Never thought of leaving for any longer – always thought that he needed to return to the shores. That Arthur could be there, could return. There was no telling when it would be. He just knew that Arthur would return there. Probably on the same boat that carried his body to the Island.

 

In such a manner time passed until the anniversary came to pass. A full year since the death of Arthur, a full year since the beginning of the wait. Merlin lay out that night underneath the stars, looking towards Avalon. He wasn’t sure what it was but something. Something was telling him that Avalon would do something. That something was to happen. This was the anniversary of his death. Something had to happen this night – it could not go by unnoticed, could it? He supposed that it was a little silly that he believed that it was that important. Arthur was just one man. One man that was mentioned in prophecy and whilst that made him special, it did not make him completely such. Many men and women were mentioned in prophecy. Many had died and the anniversaries of their deaths could go past unnoticed by anyone. There was likely one such anniversary almost every day. No, Merlin supposed that such would be the same for Arthur’s.

“Stupid Merlin,” He muttered to himself, “Albion isn’t in trouble. He wouldn’t come unless it was.”

 

“I might,” A voice answered the self-directed mutter. A voice that was familiar and yet a little different. A voice that was amused in a way that Merlin hadn’t heard in over a year. The voice was the same but different. It was as if they were in a cave and it was echoing as it spoke. Merlin looked upwards to the source of the voice. To Arthur and his eyes were suddenly wide. Wider than they had ever been. Why was he here? Was he even here? What had drawn him from Avalon?

“Why? Your Kingdom is safe and well,” Merlin replied, his voice cracking a little. He had not spoken much more than a sentence to himself or to another in so long that talking was almost a foreign concept.

“And you, Merlin?” Arthur asked in a tone that was unique to him. A tone that could cut right through any emotional guards that Merlin had,  a  tone that would consume him in the love he felt for the man.

“I am.” He answered vaguely. It was true, physically speaking.

“Don’t lie to me. Not anymore,” It was sterner now, determined.

 

It was always hard to lie to Arthur, especially when Arthur knew he was being lied to. His eyes took on a pleading worriedness that had always threatened to destroy Merlin’s will to keep the truth from him. He sighed.

“I miss you,” Merlin said softly, a sob threatening to rack through him, threatening to break the control he had over himself.

“I know, Merlin, I’ve seen you,” Arthur replied, his tone blunt, “I wanted…I wanted to come to you. To alleviate the pain but until now…” He stopped there, unsure of what to say. Merlin knew the rules of Avalon, Arthur didn’t need to explain. Although why they had changed on this day, Merlin was unsure. He was gladdened that Arthur hadn’t changed in his time in Avalon. He still cared more for the others than himself. Arthur still wanted his people to be happy, to be as good as they could be. That was part of his charm.

 

“How long can you stay?” Merlin asked before he could stop himself once the question formed upon his mind.

“Not long, just long enough to ask you a question,” Arthur answered, a smirk teasing its way on to the corner of his mouth. A mouth that Merlin would have loved to touch with his own – his presence brought Merlin’s feelings to the forecourt. Moreso than usual.

“Anything Arthur,” Merlin’s response was sincere. The King could ask any question that he so wished. Merlin would not deny him the honest and sincere answer.

“I…I feel things for you Merlin, I realised too late, when I asked you to hold me in your arms. When I asked you to hear the last things I had to say, I missed…something out, and I wanted to ask you Merlin. Do you feel things for me?” Arthur asked.  

“Yes, Arthur, I do,” Merlin answered without pause or hesitation but with a relief and a joy that he wasn’t sure that he would have been able to feel again but then, he was with Arthur and it was Arthur that had said such a thing to him.

 

A smile crossed Arthur’s lips and Merlin found them very suddenly against his own, a kiss being shared between the men. Soft, gentle, as though they thought that the other would break if they pressed too hard.

“I have another question,” Arthur said after Merlin’s need to breathe forced him to pull his lips from Arthur’s.

“And you call me an idiot?” Merlin snorted, the humour returning to him - Arthur felt for him, Arthur was here for him. He was not here for Guinevere, nor any of his Knights, nor anyone that was still amongst the living. Arthur had come here to see him.

“Shut up _Mer_ lin,” Arthur answered with what was almost a pout, “Or I might not invite you back with me.”

“To Avalon?”   
“Yes _Mer_ lin, obviously back to Avalon.”   
“I can come?”   
“Do you expect me to answer such a stupid question?”   
“Yes.”   
“Yes you expect an answer, or yes you want to come?”   
“Do you expect me to answer such a stupid question?”   
  
Perhaps the wait might not be so long, with not one person, but with two. It was just a matter of finding a person that it would be right to wait with.


End file.
